"That night, you mean? All the things that you had planned for. Father got the mine back, and Mr. Leshington and the others got the riot quelled after about half of the city was burned."
"But Cortwright and Schermerhorn—I promised them——"
"Mr. Leshington carried out your promise and helped them get the money out of the bank vault before the mob sacked the Niquoia Building and dynamited it. But at the hotel they were arrested on the order of the bank examiner, and everything was taken away from them. We haven't heard yet what is going to be done with them."
"And Gomorrah?" he asked.
She slipped an arm under his shoulders and raised him so he could look out upon the mountain-girt sea dimpling under the morning breeze.
"There is where it was," she said soberly, "where it was, and is not, and never will be again, thank God! Mr. Leshington waited until everybody had escaped, and then he shut the waste-way gates."
Brouillard sank back upon the pillows of comfort and closed his eyes.
"Then it's all up to me and the hundred thousand," he whispered. "And I'll get it ... honestly, this time."
The violet eyes were smiling when he looked into them again.
"Is she—the one incomparable she—worth it, Victor?"